Miracles Are Dead
by tigers-snipers-and-rifles
Summary: AU wherein Jim survives instead of Sherlock and decides to visit his grave.


It was his one year anniversary. Sherlock's death claiming him to be a fraud had been all over the newspapers after he had committed suicide. And Jim Moriarty was the blame for that. He had not felt guilty, definitely not. It was what he had wanted, was it not? For years he had been planning Sherlock's death and now that it had come and gone, he did not know what to do with himself anymore.

So on that same bleak, cold evening in January, he somehow found his way to the graveyard and sought out the grave of his old rival. The black marble bore his name. A simple 'Sherlock Holmes' was engraved into the stone and nothing more. Fresh flowers had been set beside it, no doubt from earlier after the visitors had taken their leave and prayed or whatever people did when visiting graves.

Jim briefly wondered if people would have mourned for him if it had been him in Sherlock's place. He clumsily seated himself on the grass beside the gravestone, managing to spill some of the whiskey he was currently drinking. He took a large swig, relishing in the familiar taste and enjoying how it burned his throat nicely.

"A year," he exclaimed, hardly able to believe it. It felt like yesterday when he had confronted the detective upon the building. "Bet you're wondering how I did it. Though you're... you're smart, right? You could figure it out," he slurred, swishing the alcohol around in the bottle. "You must be thinking, 'That bastard.' Well, there's nothin' some blanks and a packet of blood can't do. Easy-peasy." Jim smirked to himself.

He was surprised Sherlock had somehow not survived, though it was hard for one to live after such a drop. "Could have used a bungee rope. Although I recall saying that... that if you never jumped, your friends would die." He raised the bottle to his lips, amused.

"John- John is okay," he muttered after a few minutes of silence and quiet brooding. "Your pet and mine have found some things in common, believe it or not. Friends now, apparently. I know, how weird is that?" the criminal chuckled. He still had not gotten over the fact that his sniper, who had been willingly prepared to kill the man in the first place was now friends with him.

"Sebby won't kill him, you have my word on that," Jim paused for a while. "Johnny Boy is his new chew toy. At least he's not breathing down my neck all the time now. They drink and stuff. No one will drink with me so I figured I'd come see you. At least you can't object."

"Not that we're friends, Sherlock," Jim said quickly. The man had been his enemy and still was, however dead he may be. "Now that you're dead, there's no one to... to outsmart me. Ha." The Irishman barked a laugh. "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. I have too many enemies. Now I'm one short."

He took another swig of alcohol. "They're all boring though," he admitted with a frown. "You were fun, but annoying."

"They should have kept your body. I could have made you into a pair of shoes. That would keep you close enough. And you had nice skin."

"Maybe I should have let you live." Jim thought about that and shook his head. Perhaps not. Sherlock alive meant competition, and there was nothing the criminal hated more than competition. "Scotland Yard are having trouble again. They're all idiots anyway, I don't see why you bothered." he complained and for a while he never spoke.

"You're a really good listener."

It began to grow dark.

"Well, I better be off," Jim attempted to stand and collapsed again with a loud string of curses. "Enjoy hell while you still can, Sherlock. I'll be down there one day and I won't make it easy on you." he smirked and placed a hand atop the gravestone before using it as support to drunkenly lurch to his feet.

"Here's to your death. Tá ceann maith." Jim emptied the bottle of whiskey over the soil and turned on his heel to leave. "Oh, one more thing," he stopped and rounded to face the grave. "Just thought I'd tell you that Johnny Boy has taken up your old job. Thinks he's a detective." Jim snorted in amusement and with that, left.


End file.
